


Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater

by frostysunflowers



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Food Poisoning, Gen, Humor, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Sickfic, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Tony is retired and it shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:35:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26055052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/pseuds/frostysunflowers
Summary: ''Dying.''''You’re not dying.''''Totally am.''''God, I hope not, otherwise May will skin me alive.''orA weekend visit to the cabin doesn't go according to plan.
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 58
Kudos: 302





	Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater

**Author's Note:**

> Does the title of this fic make it obvious that I can't wait for autumn?? Thought so!
> 
> This is set in that delightful place where everybody loves each other and they all survived endgame and all is right with the world <3
> 
> Warnings for non-graphic descriptions of vomiting and sickness.

"So, what do you think, kid?"

Peter cocks his head to one side, then the other, eyes narrowed appraisingly. Tony watches him impatiently, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for an answer. 

Finally, after another slow tilt of his head, Peter says, "I’ve seen bigger."

Tony blinks, jaw dropping at the audacity of such a claim. He looks down at the pumpkin resting in front of them on the ground, then turns a glare onto a now grinning Peter. "You have not," he says, giving Peter a light shove to the shoulder. "Look at you. Couple of months at college and you think you know it all."

"Had to carry on your legacy somehow," Peter retorts, laughing as Tony prods him in the ribs. 

"Brat."

"Is this a bad time to tell you that the only reason I’m here for the weekend is because you promised me a home cooked meal?"

"God, _please_ tell me you’ve eaten something other than ramen in the last six weeks."

"Hey," Peter says loudly, "you know, now that I’m looking at it again, it _is_ really big."

Tony gives him a knowing look but they’re both smiling at each other warmly, happy to be together again. With the crisp breeze ruffling through their hair, the late afternoon sun gently warming their skin and and the rustle of the red and gold leaves falling from the trees, it’s a moment of quiet that Tony wants to savour because he knows it’ll pass far too soon. 

Peter inhales deeply, the smile on his face suggesting that he's thinking the same thing, then bends down to touch the pumpkin, patting the top firmly. "So how are we gonna eat this? I don’t think I’ve ever tried it before."

"Never?"

Peter shrugs. "Well, Ben used to make pumpkin pie sometimes but we would always smother it in whipped cream so it kinda didn’t taste of anything else."

Tony looks at the pumpkin. Truth is, when he’d called Peter with the news of how his humble little vegetable patch had not only managed to avoid its annual ransacking by Gerald, but had also produced something bigger than a pencil sized carrot, he hadn’t actually put much thought into exactly what he would make with the pumpkin. 

"I’m sure we can find some recipes online. Now come on, muscles, make yourself useful."

Peter dutifully stoops low and scoops the pumpkin up, hefting it effortlessly onto his left shoulder. As they head towards the cabin, he nods his head at the partially destroyed scarecrow hanging from a post nearby. "Aw, what happened to Steve?"

"Gerald didn’t like his outfit," Tony explains, eyeing the remains of what had once been a Captain America costume with a smirk. "I think he thinks it’s _actually_ Steve."

"Only you would own an alpaca that actually hates Captain America."

"Ex-Captain America, remember?"

"...So shouldn’t the scarecrow be called Sam?"

Morgan throwing the front door open and asking if she can have a snack halts the debate, though Tony later finds himself pondering on whether it would be in poor taste to stick a pair of wings on Stevey Sam the scarecrow as he hacks into the pumpkin in the kitchen. Morgan helps scoop out the insides with extreme gusto, flinging seeds and stringy bits of pumpkin gut all over the place while Peter sprawls on the couch and halfheartedly works on a paper for one of his classes. He only manages about thirty minutes before passing out, leaving Tony to google various recipes and separate the many pieces into roasting tins and saucepans and tupperware containers that take up too much room in the fridge. 

By sunset, the entire cabin is full of the earthy scent of pumpkin. 

"Where exactly are you planning on storing all of this food?" Pepper asks when she arrives home, eyeing the various pots and pans skeptically. "There’s only so much pumpkin a person can eat, you know."

"Don’t worry," Tony says, giving her a kiss as he ladles bright orange soup into some bowls, "I’m more than happy to share the fruits of my labour with others. Hey, Pete," he calls to the sluggishly moving lump on the couch, "you think May will want some pumpkin treats?"

"Sure," Peter yawns, smiling sleepily at Pepper in greeting. "Happy will probably throw it out though. Says you can’t cook to save your life."

"Jealousy is so unbecoming." Tony sniffs. "Morgan! Soup’s on!"

"Looks good," Peter says as soon as they’re all seated at the table and noisily slurps up a giant spoonful. 

Morgan, delighted by the vibrant colour of her dinner, moves to do the same, only to give an unhappy cry of, "Petey!" when Peter suddenly whacks the spoon from her hand, sending it clattering to the floor. 

"Pete," Tony exclaims, "what - "

"Oh, god," Peter groans, covering his mouth and retching, "that tastes - Morgan, don’t eat it, seriously - "

He groans again then bolts up from his chair so fast that it topples over. Neither Tony or Pepper have time to even stand as Peter hiccups loudly and rushes to the stairs, staggers up them and disappears from sight. There’s a small pause, then the very obvious sounds of vomiting.

Pepper looks at Tony. "You did check it wasn’t rotten, right?"

"Pep, the thing was as perfect as my skin back in the nineties. I don’t know what’s wrong." Tony sips at the soup and immediately spits it out, spluttering loudly as a horribly bitter, acrid taste smothers his tongue and sticks to the roof of his mouth. "Except that it tastes like literal _hell_ oh my god - " He lunges for his water and spills half of it down his shirt as he gulps it down desperately to try and banish the taste. 

"I guess I better order a pizza," Pepper sighs, picking up hers and Morgan’s bowls and heading into the kitchen. 

Tony gives her a thumbs up, still guzzling the water, eyes burning with tears. 

"So no orange food?" Morgan asks sadly. 

"Pizza is red," Pepper offers. She sets a glass of milk in front of Tony. "Try this."

Tony does, body sagging with relief as finally, the sourness starts to abate. 

More retching comes from upstairs.

"I’ll go see if he’s alright." Pepper rubs Tony on the back. "Morgan, keep an eye on Daddy."

"Okay!" Morgan nods. "Should I get my doctor’s kit?"

"No, baby, I’m good." Tony leans back in his chair and palms his sweating forehead. "But I’m afraid pumpkins are banned from this house forever."

"Oh. What about Halloween?"

Tony considers this. "I guess I wouldn’t be opposed to butchering some once a year. Sound fair?"

Morgan holds out her hand. Tony lifts his metal one to wiggle their fingers together and then do a fist bump, followed by a serious nod of the head. 

"Glad we’re in agreement. You wanna help Daddy set fire to the rest of this evil stuff?"

"Okay!"

"No fires," Pepper says as she walks back down the stairs. "You’re needed upstairs."

Clacking his tongue and grimacing, Tony grabs a bag of blueberries and pours half of it into his mouth before he heads up to the bathroom. Upon entering, he finds Peter sprawled on the tiles, shivering and pale faced with an arm curled around his stomach, moaning quietly. 

"Jeez, kid." Tony kneels down beside him. "You alright?"

"Dying."

"You’re not dying."

"Totally am."

"God, I hope not, otherwise May will skin me alive."

"That’s if you’re lucky." Peter rolls over slightly and cracks open an eye. "That soup sucked."

Tony shakes his head. "That’s putting it mildly, bud. Gotta say, I’ve never tasted anything quite as bad as that before. Or seen anyone floored so spectacularly by a vegetable."

"You didn’t swallow it," Peter grumbles. His stomach gurgles loudly and he gives a mournful moan. "I think I’m gonna sleep in here tonight."

"Want me to hang here with you?"

Peter shakes his head, huffing something that sounds like, "Not a kid, Tony."

Knowing better than to argue, Tony grabs a blanket and spare pillow from the airing cupboard, leaves a glass of water on the sink and makes sure Peter has his phone nearby. A soft goodnight is shared and then Tony’s trudging back down the stairs, wondering if he can convince Pepper to let him blast the rest of the pumpkin into oblivion with one of the repulsors he keeps in the garage. 

* * *

"Daddy...Daddy... _Daddy."’_

"Huh?" Tony jerks with a snort. "Wha’?"

"Daddy."

"Oh, hi, honey." Tony rubs an eye and lifts his head to squint at the shadowy figure standing by the bed, a small toy lantern casting a dim pink light across her chin. "Wassamatter?"

"Peter’s sick."

Tony’s head drops back down. "Yeah, I know. He’ll be fine."

"No, Daddy, he’s _really_ sick. I heard him making lots of noise in the bathroom so I went to see if he was okay or maybe wanted more water, and he was holding his tummy and crying and saying lots of silly things - "

Tony whips the covers back, the fug of sleep falling away instantly. He stuffs his feet into his slippers, nearly tripping over as he moves around the bed, then yanks on his robe as he hurries to the bathroom with Morgan hot on his heels, her little lantern providing enough light for him to not accidentally crash into the giant ficus halfway along the hall. 

Soft whimpering greets him as he steps into the bathroom. In the harsh light, Peter’s skin looks as grey as stone, his shirt absolutely drenched with sweat and his face pinched with discomfort. 

"Shit." Tony drops down and places both hands on Peter’s face, wincing at the heat that greets his touch. "Peter? Kid, open your eyes, look at me, come on."

"No," Peter mumbles, "no, no school, no, no - "

"Jesus." Tony slips an arm under Peter’s shoulders and lifts carefully, shuffling awkwardly across the floor so he can sit with his back against the wall and prop Peter up in the crook of his metal arm. "C’mon, Pete, you can’t let a goddamn _pumpkin_ kick your ass like this, okay? It’s embarrassing."

Peter wriggles in his grasp, sliding sideways. "Not - not the fishsticks - _please!"_

Tony taps a cheek firmly. "Wake up, kid."

A gigantic grin spreads across Peter’s face. "I’m Spider-Maaaaaan!" he cheers, throwing his arms wide with joy, then slumps back into unconsciousness, sagging in Tony’s arms like a limp noodle. 

Tony sighs, trying hard to resist the urge to scream very, very loudly. 

"What should we do?" Morgan asks from the doorway, her voice small and concerned. "Is he gonna die?"

"No, no, baby, he’s gonna be fine. Why don’t you go get in bed with Mommy, yeah? Have some cuddles while I give Uncle Bruce a call."

Morgan chews her lip anxiously for a moment, then nods when Tony gives her the most reassuring smile he can muster. She turns to leave, pauses, then sets down her lantern, as though leaving it behind will help before hurrying off. 

Having no doubt of his daughter’s expert ability to navigate the hallway in the dark, Tony looks to the ceiling. "FRI?"

_"Contacting Bruce Banner."_

"You’re amazing."

Tony peers at Peter’s face closely and gives him a gentle shake. "C’mon, bud, wake up properly for me. We can go to the farmers market tomorrow, buy all the pumpkins and bring ‘em back here to blow up, how about that?"

Peter doesn’t reply. 

_"I’m unable to connect the call, boss."_

"Damn it. Try Steve. Nat. Whoever is at the compound and within walking distance of Bruce."

_"Got it, boss."_

Another painful minutes passes by with just the sound of Peter’s raspy breathing and Tony’s heartbeat in his ears, then Steve’s sleepy voice fills the room. 

_"Tony? You okay?"_

"I need Bruce."

_"Uh...you - huh?"_

"Bruce! You might know him, nice guy, real smart, wears a lot of purple - "

_"Jeez, Tony, yes, okay - Bruce isn’t here. He’s out with Thor."_

"Out with - what do you mean _out with Thor -_ what does that mean?"

 _"Uh…"_ Steve clears his throat. _"Well, y’know how they’ve been getting closer lately, what with their trips to space and stuff - "_

Peter suddenly lurches, forehead bouncing off Tony’s collarbone. "I can’t find my glasses." His hands pat feebly at Tony’s chest. "My glasses, Tony," he whimpers, starting to cry into Tony’s robe. "My glasses."

"Okay, okay, easy, shhh."

_"Is that Peter? What’s going on?"_

Frustration and panic swells in Tony, pushing a lump into his throat. "I don’t know, I _don’t know._ I thought he just had food poisoning but - "

_"He ate something bad?"_

"One damn mouthful of soup, Rogers. That’s all he had. It can’t possibly be that, not when he’s like this." Tony cups Peter’s jaw, fingers sliding to rest against the space where his pulse flutters erratically beneath the skin. "I need Bruce."

Sheets rustle over the line. _"I’ll see what I can find in the medlab. Sam’s here too so he’ll have an idea of what I should bring, and I’ll keep trying Bruce. Try and get Peter somewhere comfortable, see if FRIDAY can pick up anything. I’m on my way, alright?"_

It’s ridiculous. Tony’s no stranger to emergencies or dealing with sickness. Sure, the first time Morgan had projectile vomited all over him had been a bit of a shock, but he soon learnt all the tricks of the parenting trade, building upon what he already knew from having Rhodey take care of his reckless ass all through college and being part of a team full of foolhardy heroes who practically lived and (almost) died by the expression ‘walk it off’. 

He knows what to do for fevers, for snotty noses, for stomach bugs and broken limbs, he doesn’t need a road map for any of this, but hearing Steve’s steady voice giving out the instructions just like the old days somehow helps anyway, soothing just a little of his frazzled nerves. 

_"Tony?"_

"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Hurry up."

The line disconnects and Tony lets out a heavy breath, wishing like hell that Rhodey was in the country; that May and Happy hadn’t chosen this week to go on a long awaited honeymoon; that he had the ability to sit down on the ground for longer than five minutes without his back hurting. 

Clutching a still crying Peter closer, Tony tries to push himself up, gritting his teeth as something in his knee pops. 

"Gotta start doing pilates more often," he grunts, trying again. 

Pepper appears in the doorway, a vision in her stripey pajama trousers and one of his old band shirts. "Need a hand?"

"Hands," Peter says, tears vanishing as he moves away from Tony with impressive speed to crawl across the floor. "Hands hands hands," he chants as he rears up over the toilet and proceeds to vomit loudly into it. 

"May’s going to kill you," Pepper sighs. 

"Not if I eat enough of that pumpkin first, she won’t," Tony vows seriously. 

"What’s that sound?" Peter suddenly gasps, his arms tightening around the base of the toilet bowl. "I can hear _light!"_

He vomits again. 

"That’s not what you’re hearing, buddy," Tony says, reaching over to rub between Peter’s shoulders. 

"Oh…" A short sob. "Why does it hate me?"

Tony groans in despair, not even bothering to glare at Pepper as she giggles. 

They manage to get a trembling Peter down the stairs not long after that and nestle him amongst the couch cushions with a lukewarm washcloth resting on his forehead. 

"Morgan?" Tony asks as he lifts his metal hand and runs it through the air above Peter, a blue light filtering from the palm. 

"Bribed back into bed," Pepper says, sitting down and softly pressing the back of her fingers against one of Peter’s sweaty cheeks. "I give her an hour."

Tony nods his agreement and withdraws his hand, perching on the arm of the couch. "Okay, FRI, what are we dealing with?"

_"Analysing now."_

Pepper readjusts the washcloth. "Makes me think of that story Rhodey told me once. The one about you getting flu during your second year and passing out in the stairwell of your building."

Tony snorts. "Don’t think he’s ever forgiven me for that. Honestly, you cover a guy in blood just _once - "_

"And throw up on them en route to the hospital."

"Hey, it was a valuable life experience, okay. He should be grateful."

" _You_ should be grateful."

"Oh, I am. Him saving my ass that night meant I got to see him get wasted enough to moon everyone at a party two weeks later. That’s not a sight anyone wants to miss out on."

Pepper laughs, a pretty, twinkly noise that casts a bit of brightness into the room. Their eyes meet and Tony reaches out to squeeze her hand, grateful for the subtlety of her distraction, for the comfort and reassurance that just her mere presence brings.

On the couch, Peter shudders violently and groans, then mutters, "Sorry, Mister Spock, I didn't mean to."

Tony pushes the knuckles of his free hand against his forehead. "If this is something to do with that disaster of a roommate of his, I’ll kill him." 

"Kill who? Johnny or Peter?"

"Both. They’re as dumb as each other. Between the two of them, they’ve done more damage to their dorm than a herd of elephants. A herd of elephants that leave scorch marks and bloodstains everywhere."

"So I guess that’s a no on inviting Reed and the others round for dinner one night?"

Tony squints at her in disgust, but the sudden sound of Bruce’s voice cuts the conversation short. 

_"Tony?"_

"Bruce!" Tony says loudly, wincing when Peter stirs unhappily. "It’s about damn time," he hisses.

_"Sorry, I’m, uh, on vacation."_

"Spare me the details. Hi, Point Break."

 _"Hello,"_ Thor chuckles back cheerfully over Bruce’s embarrassed spluttering. _"Sorry to hear young Peter isn’t faring so well."_

Peter moans and tenses his whole body, face twisting in a grimace as he whispers something that sounds suspiciously like a line from Jurassic Park. 

"Bruce, you gotta help me out here," Tony says, standing up to try and pace some of his worries into the floor. "This doesn’t seem like just food poisoning or flu or anything he's had before."

 _"That's because I don’t think it is. Not in the typical sense anyway. FRIDAY sent me the data from the scan you did and…"_ he hums thoughtfully. _"Steve said he ate some pumpkin?"_

"Pumpkin soup." Tony stops his pacing to rest a hand on one of Peter’s quaking shoulders while Pepper goes to run the washcloth under the kitchen tap. "Just one mouthful."

_"Uh huh. And you’re absolutely certain that he hasn’t eaten anything else in the last twenty four hours that might cause some sort of reaction? He hasn’t come into contact with anything he’s allergic to?"_

Tony leans closer to Peter. "Kid, you haven’t been sniffing lavender or eating peppermint for a dare again have you?"

Peter whines and curls up into a ball. "Sasquatch. No mayo." One of his hands flings out to stick against the edge of Tony’s robe, fingers scrunched tight into the fabric. 

"Think that’s a negative, Bruce."

_"That’s what I thought."_

"So what’s _wrong_ with him?"

There’s a brief pause, the distinct sound of fingers tapping on a screen, then Bruce clears his throat a little awkwardly, like he knows he’s about to say something stupid. _"Have you ever heard of toxic squash syndrome?"_

The kitchen tap shuts off and Tony meets Pepper’s bewildered stare from across the room. The frustration and panic from earlier returns in full force, pushing tension into Tony’s jaw and turning his blood hot. 

"No, funnily enough, I can’t say that I have," Tony growls through gritted teeth. 

_"Toxic squash syndrome, not to be confused with toxic shock syndrome,"_ Bruce says, his voice picking up speed like it does when he’s curious or intrigued by something. " _Otherwise known as cucurbit poisoning. Symptoms include nausea, aches and pains, dizziness, slight delirium in some cases."_

"Oh, god," Pepper groans, leaning against the kitchen counter and burning her face in her hands. "I swear, Tony, only you could manage this."

Tony swallows against the fierce pressure of guilt coiling in the base of his throat. "Cucurbit poisoning?"

_"The pumpkin you cooked must have had high levels of cucurbitacin, the toxin that typically acts as a natural defense to insects in certain plants and vegetables, and that’s what caused Peter to have this reaction,"_

"Fantastic," Tony throws a hand into the air. "My kid manages to survive plane crashes, psychotic egomaniacs, high school and living with the human equivalent of a lighter and a can of aerosol, and I wind up almost killing him with a goddamn pumpkin." 

Bruce chuckles. " _I imagine the roommate is more of a risk to his health than what’s going on right now. It’s not nearly as terrible as you think. The soup you made, did you try some?"_

"Yeah," Tony sighs. "Yeah. Spat it back out though."

_"Did it taste bitter?"_

"That’s one way of describing it."

_"Then I’m very confident that the pumpkin is the source of the problem. It’s pretty much impossible to tell if something has excessive amounts of cucurbitacin until you taste it, unfortunately. You couldn’t have known, Tony."_

Peter makes a guttural noise that almost borders on inhuman, his back hitching off the couch for a second before he settles again. Tony rubs his hand back and forth along Peter’s still jittering shoulder, frowning up at the ceiling despite Bruce’s attempt to stop him from blaming himself. "So how come I’m fine but Peter looks like he’s about two minutes away from needing an exorcism?"

_"You didn’t swallow it. Peter did. It only takes one small mouthful to have an effect."_

"Great. Where the hell was this whenever we needed the edge in a fight, huh? Could have saved ourselves a hell of a lot of time and cuts and bruises if we just fed the bad guys some putrid vegetables."

_"Ahh, the joys of hindsight."_

A tug on Tony’s sleeve has him looking down to meet Peter’s wide, glassy gaze. "Kid. Hey, you okay? We’re working on getting you feeling better - "

"No - more - pumpkin - " Peter rasps, each word sounding like a huge effort. "Ever."

"Okay, absolutely, no pumpkin ever again," Tony promises, kneeling down just in time to catch Peter round the chest as he tilts too far. "Easy, bud."

There’s a horrible heaving sound, Peter’s back bending up into a perfect arch. "Gonna - gonna - "

"Pep!" Tony calls urgently. 

A washing up bucket flies underneath Peter’s face just as his mouth opens and it's all Tony can do to give gentle encouragement as he holds Peter steady through it. 

_"It’s not gonna be a fun ride, but he will be fine,"_ Bruce says over the noise. _"The severity of his reaction is likely due to_ his _increased sensitivity to some natural compounds because of his mutation."_

"So all we can do is wait?" Tony asks, wincing as Peter retches again. 

_"Pretty much, just like any other instance of food poisoning. The only real danger is if he becomes severely dehydrated, but I told Steve to bring the necessities for setting up an IV so that should be taken care of fairly easily."_

Pepper mops Peter’s face with the washcloth as he leans back, sprawled over Tony’s lap like a rag doll, sweating and groaning miserably. Tony can’t resist running a hand through his hair, his thumb brushing softly against Peter’s forehead. 

_"Maybe cut back on the whole cabbage patch dream from now on,"_ Bruce quips. _"Grow some more pretty flowers instead."_

"My sunflowers _are_ fabulous," Tony agrees. "Miss you, Brucie bear. You too, Thunderhead. Glad you crazy kids finally got it together."

He hangs up on Thor’s booming laughter and Bruce’s flustered jabbering and sinks into the couch with a weary groan, Peter now snoring away across his legs. He closes his eyes for a moment and allows the relief to flow over him, washing away the panic that had been curdling inside like sour milk. He fiddles with Peter’s hair, opening his eyes with a snort as Peter huffs grouchily and rolls onto his side, one of his shoulders digging in painfully into Tony's skin.

"When did he get tall," Tony mumbles, wrinkling his nose and shifting under Peter’s weight. "I don’t like it."

"Liar," Pepper snorts. She glances at the clock on the wall. "Hopefully Steve will be here soon."

"He better be. Don’t care how retired he is, there’s no excuse for laziness."

"Spoken like a true connoisseur of falling asleep in the middle of the afternoon." Pepper kisses his forehead and walks away with the bucket and washcloth. "You want some tea?"

"Coffee."

"Tony, it’s five in the morning, you’re not having coffee yet."

"Spoilsport," Tony yawns, closing his eyes again. 

The next thing he’s aware of is the pale light of sunrise peeking in through the windows. Peter is still a heavy pressure draped over his thighs, sweaty and shivery but no worse than earlier, and Morgan is sat on Tony’s other side, munching dry cornflakes and giggling quietly at something on the television. 

"Where’s Mommy?"

"Shower," Morgan says. "She says you’re allowed coffee now."

"Yay." Tony wriggles a shoulder, then the other, trying to loosen the knot in the middle of his back. 

Just as he’s about to ask if there’s been any word from Steve, he hears the rasping of car tyres in the yard. Two doors open and slam shut and almost immediately there’s a series of angry snorting, a surprised yelp, then Sam’s deep laughter. Footsteps hurry up the porch steps and the front door flies open, revealing a slightly dishevelled and wide eyed Steve Rogers. 

"Why does your alpaca hate me?" he asks, holding up the sleeve of his jacket to show a few impressive bite marks in the leather. "I’ve never done anything to him and he always tries to attack me whenever I come by."

Tony shrugs innocently. "Maybe he doesn’t like the way you dress."

"Yeah, I’m sure that’s it," Sam says as he pushes past Steve, smirking at Tony. "We doing this here?’ he asks, only to laugh as Tony gives him a confused look. "Please, you think _Steve_ knows how to set up an IV?" He drops a large black bag onto the table. "That’s just asking for trouble."

" _I_ know how to set up an IV," Tony says, raising his eyebrows. "Practically a pro at it by now."

Sam waves a hand. "Yeah, but you’re in dad mode now, so you’re pretty useless. C’mon, help me get the kid comfortable."

Steve ushers Morgan into the kitchen with a promise of pancakes, while Tony carefully eases himself off the couch and settles Peter on his back. He watches intently as Sam washes his hands and then sets everything up, fixing the IV into Peter’s arm with practiced ease. He gives the man a small but grateful smile when their gazes meet. 

"He’ll be alright," Sam says, moving the stand holding the saline pouch out of the way. "Take more than your rancid cooking to finish him off."

Tony’s laugh catches him off guard for how loud and relieved it sounds. "Guess so."

Almost three hours later, while Morgan is personally introducing Steve and Sam to each of the chickens outside and Pepper is catching up on some work upstairs, Peter blinks awake. He fixes the tube sticking out of his arm with a very unhappy glare. "Oh, man. What did I do?"

"Afraid I gotta take full credit for this one, buddy," Tony says from his position in one of the armchairs. "Turns out my fingers aren’t as green as I thought. Kinda poisoned you. Don’t you remember anything?"

"Not a whole lot."

"Probably just as well." Tony sniffs. "Lots of puking and some truly embarrassing rambling on your part."

Peter groans, lifting a hand over his eyes. "Oh my god. All this time you’ve been telling me all the ramen will kill me but really it’s the vegetables."

"Vegetable." Tony corrects. "One rogue pumpkin isn’t anywhere near enough to justify the amount of crap you eat, kid, believe me."

Peter waves a hand dismissively. "Okay, fine. Just no more pumpkins." He pushes himself up with a grimace and grabs the IV stand. "Can we go outside? I can still kinda smell that soup."

As Tony moves to help, a rosy-cheeked Morgan sticks her head through the front door. "Yay, you’re awake!" she says, beaming at Peter. "That means you can come with us!"

"Come where?"

"Uncle Steve and Uncle Sam said they’d take me out for dessert."

"Dessert?" Tony raises an eyebrow. ''It’s not even lunchtime yet."

"It will be by the time we get there!" Sam calls laughingly from the yard. "We’re liberating your scarecrow too. Guy needs a new wardrobe."

There’s an angry snort. 

"Yeah, I’ll make sure it’s edible, you furry grouch."

Steve joins Morgan in the doorway, sporting more bite marks on his jacket. "I’m sure the place will have something plain and easy on the stomach," he says, giving Peter a sympathetic smile.

"Pleeeease, Petey?" Morgan asks. 

Peter moans forlornly and slumps sideways into Tony.

"I don’t think he’s in the position to go anywhere right now, honey," Tony interjects as he wraps an arm around Peter’s waist to hold him up. "Maybe next time."

"Aw," Morgan wilts. "Okay, we’ll bring something back for you."

"Make sure it’s not pumpkin pie," Tony chuckles. "Right, Pete?" He doesn’t get a response. "Kid?"

With a look of furious disappointment, Peter gives a heaving gasp of, "You really suck," and promptly vomits all over Tony's slippers.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> Toxic squash syndrome is in fact a real thing, which I only recently discovered after reading an article about a man who get very sick after eating a mouthful of a homegrown courgette. The symptoms/reactions have been slightly exaggerated here but not by much, and it was an idea I just couldn't resist haha, poor Peter.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are appreciated <3


End file.
